13. You’re Just in the Vinegar #3
I lean back, spinning the stool a few inches back and forth.
“Honestly? It makes me angry. I’ve been spreading myself thin to help her, and I’d do it again without question, but there’s something she’s keeping from me.
Something she doesn’t want me to know. And then I feel guilty for being angry with her on top of it.
What if I’m just imagining things? But she’s never kept things from me before… ”
She grabs a bag of hamburger buns from the pantry and sets them on a sheet pan.
“It’s okay to feel that way, Nik. It makes sense.
When someone we love isn’t being open with us—especially with their health—it can feel incredibly frustrating.
” She turns fully, leaning a hip against the counter, arms crossing as her expression softens.
“Sometimes our anger comes from fear. Fear of being left out. Fear of losing control. People who are sick sometimes hold back to protect the people they love. Or because they’re barely holding on themselves.
Even if that’s the case, your feelings are still valid. ”
I rest my hands under my chin. I know she’s right. “But?”
“But,” she echoes, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
“You can’t force her to tell you everything.
The only thing you can control is how you show up.
Show her compassion. Show her patience. Be honest with your feelings.
And at the end of the day,” she says, her voice softening, “you have to put it in God’s hands.
David says in the Psalms that we must pour our hearts out to Him, because God is our refuge. Your frustration is safe with Him.”
“You’re right,” I admit, though the words claw their way out of my throat.
Her smile widens knowingly. “Of course I am.” She turns back to the counter, stacking meat onto buns, and the sight makes my stomach growl. Then, as casually as if she’s commenting on the weather, she says, “Now, tell me how you feel about Eleanor.”
My grip on the counter tightens. “I really don’t—”
Evelyn spins, wooden spoon pointing straight at me like a sword. “Nope. You are not going to do that.” Her voice is firm, and her gaze unflinching. “You said something happened with her?”
The words lodged in my throat, but I finally dig them free and explain the foolish fifteen-minute break I called earlier today.
Evelyn remains quiet for a beat. She slides the sandwiches into the oven, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and finally turns to face me, a wide smile on her face.
“Looks like Irina and I are right.” She sets a timer and glances back at me.
“Seems like she’s struck a chord with you—which, I might add, hasn’t happened in a very long time. ”
I let out a soft laugh through my nose. “You’re not wrong.”
“Well, if it’s God’s plan,” she continues, her voice steady, “He’ll give you the grace and strength to walk through both Irina’s cancer and whatever may happen with Eleanor.
” She moves closer, leaning her arms on the island so we’re nearly eye level.
When she speaks again, her voice is a whisper.
“But I can tell there’s more you aren’t saying. ”
Now I remember why she’s a therapist. It’s too easy for her to read people. “Maybe,” I mutter.
She doesn’t move. Just waits me out, letting the silence stretch until my skin crawls with it.
“You know about my past…” The words find their way to the surface.
My fingers curl around the edge of the counter.
“You and Mama seem so adamant that Eleanor is in my path for a purpose. If that’s the case, then I don’t want to bring a vulnerable girl into my life, only for her to run once she learns what I’ve done. Who I used to be.”
“There it is.” Evelyn’s smile softens, threaded with sympathy.
“Nik, I don’t think God would bring you someone who couldn’t accept all of you.
Don’t push someone away because you’re afraid of a storm that hasn’t even broken yet.
” Her hand covers mine, warm and grounding.
“Jesus saved you. You are new in Him. Don’t carry shame for what He’s already redeemed. ”
I dip my chin, even though the knot in my chest doesn’t ease.
Evelyn returns to the counter, slicing a head of lettuce. “I did meet her tonight, you know.” She glances over her shoulder at me and wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s a lovely girl.”
Oh no, please no. “She is,” I admit, and despite myself, a subtle heat creeps into my cheeks.
Evelyn’s smile turns knowing—the kind of look only the women in my life seem to master. “All right,” she says tenderly. “Let’s start with the facts then. When you’re with her, what do you see?”
I settle back on the stool, letting the image of Eleanor surface in my mind.
“She’s pretty quiet. Holds herself like she’s afraid to take up space.
When she dances, she’s wound up too tight…
like letting go of control would make her whole world unravel.
” My fingers drum against the countertop as I think.
“She has perfectionism written all over her. But… she’s sweet.
Gentle in a way. A little skittish, like she expects people to hurt her.
But underneath that…” I pause, searching for the right word.
“She feels… pure. Untouched by all the things that should’ve ruined her by now. ”
“What would’ve ruined her?” Evelyn’s words come out soft, but there’s weight behind it.
I exhale slowly. “You know how the ballet world is. It chews people up and spits them out if they’re not strong enough. She came from the Metropolitan Theatre of Ballet.” My jaw tightens. “I can only imagine the sort of things that went on there.”
Like the rumor. The one about her and her coach. The one that got her fired.
But that isn’t mine to say, and Evelyn doesn’t need to hear it.